For some reason, I thought that moving to London would be a new beginning. I would leave behind everything familiar in Melbourne and start afresh. I would be forged in this move, forced to assert myself and step well outside my comfort zone with none of the familiarities of home and none of the support.

In fact, the opposite has been true. Melbourne is a band-aid that I can’t remove. London has revealed people from my past that I’d been without for years because the distance seemed too great, our experiences too divergent. Now that we’re in the same hemisphere, it’s become clear that — though uprooted and displaced — we are all essentially as we were. The time that’s passed means nothing.

Moving away can be freeing because it provides you the space to become your truest self. You’re not tied to the expectations of people that knew you when. You can evolve as you wish, on a whim and as the wind changes — until something sticks. But what I’ve really enjoyed about the reunions I’ve had is realising that, despite this freedom, changes are subtle and small. We still relate to each other, just as slightly older versions of ourselves.This is the first time that I’ve felt confident that I can accept the two parts of my life, where I am now and where I’ve left. Being here does not mean that I need to neatly divide one from the other; it was foolish to believe that I could.

Of course, admitting that, also means giving up on the idea that London is going to be altering in a way that home never could be. Maybe it was too much to ask that this move would bring with it great clarity and direction. I had few answers at home and I have no more here. That’s not to say that they won’t come, but I think that where I am may be inconsequential. There’s still a lot of grappling to be done.

So this is an official thing now. In sight are Costa Coffee and Hard Rock Cafe; it’s safe to say that I’m not in Kansas anymore. Rather, I’m set up at Changi Airport, Singapore, en route to London, where I’m moving. For two years.

An overseas move is a big thing regardless of your circumstance, but making this my first move ever is probably a bit over the top. Thankfully I’m quite sleep deprived so haven’t had the capacity to comprehend exactly what I’ve done yet. It all feels very unreal. The muggy heat in Singapore doesn’t help when it comes to imagining my new life in London either – though it’ll be 20 degrees on Friday, apparently. That’s promising!

As expected, the last few days were pretty chaotic, a lot of running into rooms and forgetting what I’d gone in there for, way too many trips to my local shopping centre and endless poring over and over my mega to-do list. I’m happy to say all the important things got crossed off: travel insurance bought, phone plan cancelled, and plane ticket acquired, albeit quite last minute. The thing I’m most proud of? Fitting all my stuff into 30kgs of checked baggage. Just.

The days leading up to my departure were made up of a series of lasts: last trudge up the hill from the bus stop, last lie-in with the cat, last wander up to the local shops, last home-cooked meal. It’s going to take a bit of a mental back flip for me to start thinking about firsts now, because the next few days will be full of them. We’re in exciting times!

Now, just another 13 hours on a plane. But if Singapore Airlines have that fried rice again, all will be fine.

In terms of pages read, it was a below average year for me. I’m not quite sure what happened, but it did (or didn’t) and there’s no going back now. Despite the smaller number of books read, there are a few gems worth recommending:

The Woman who Dived into the Heart of the World by Sabina Berman

Translated from Spanish, this story about tuna fishing as told from the perspective of Karen, a young woman with autism, is completely engrossing. Written in a truly unique voice that casts light on high-functioning autism, as well as the fish industry, The Woman who Dived into the Heart of the World is clever, insightful and hits all the right emotional notes, despite its protagonist’s apparent apathy.

The Painted Veil by W. Somerset Maugham

Maugham has a beautiful way with words that, while concise, effortlessly transports his reader to far off places. This time, it is 1920s Hong Kong, where English ex-pats have forged their own rules. It is in amongst this exotic and unfamiliar hustle and bustle, almost unreal in its liberties, that Kitty loses touch with herself and her marriage. When her husband insists she escort him to the heart of a cholera epidemic, Kitty is forced to consider the decisions that led her there, as well as her future.

The Rosie Project by Graeme Simsion

This Australian debut novel from Graeme Simsion has been a runaway hit since its release in January last year and it’s clear to see why. Eccentric academic, Don Tillman has developed the perfect plan to find himself a wife. Dubbed ‘The Wife Project’, the survey is a surefire way for Don to separate the worthwhile candidates from the rest, but it’s hit a snag: Rosie. A laugh-out-loud page turner.

The Art of Travel by Alain de Botton

Convinced my travel adventures would be few this year, de Botton offered the perfect alternative with his 2002 collection of essays. De Botton’s thoughtful musings on the nature of travel and why it sometimes falls short of our expectations have inspired me to look with fresh eyes at the places I find myself in.

Along with the traditional ‘Changing of the Calendar’ ceremony comes the annual reflection. I set a lot of goals for myself this year and fell short on more than one occasion, but that’s okay. I think part of growing up is being able to forgive yourself. After all, no one wants to be coupled for eternity with a taskmaster.

I was one month into job hunting by the time January 2013 rolled around and despite a couple of interviews in late January, was still sending off applications well into March. Then, in a bizarre turn of events, I was offered two positions: one full-time in advertising and the other, an internship with a youth arts organisation, on the same day.

When it rains, it pours…

Around about the same time, I stopped volunteering regularly at 3RRR as one of their social media assistants and my involvement with We Matter Media went on hiatus. It took a long time for me to find any kind of work/life balance, which meant that a lot of projects went on the back burner. It’s only been in the last few months that I’ve made a real effort to get back into the swing of community media, but things are looking up for 2014. I’ll be Reviews Coordinator for SYN this year and I’m still hoping to get back on air at some stage. I’m losing the ability to speak coherent sentences so broadcasting may be just what I need.

In July, I met a hero of mine, Cary Elwes. In truth, I completely forgot he was coming to Melbourne for Comic-Con until I saw a couple of tweets in my feed that morning. Unable to find anyone to go with me on such short notice, I went alone. It was probably for the best that there were no witnesses to my fangirl-ing.

Also this year, I gained and lost a pen pal, became obsessed with Game of Thrones, bought way too many geeky t-shirts from Teefury, and stopped the house from burning down and the cat from dying for three weeks in June while my family gallivanted around Paris and London. My love affair with tea continued in 2013, an old nickname of mine was revived, I continued writing for artsHub, though assignments were few and far between (I really must look into that in the next week or two). I found a new weekly workout in No Lights No Lycra, the first of my high-school friends got engaged and I saw my OTP (sort of) reunited in the Doctor Who 50th anniversary episode.

I did, what felt at the time, like the bare minimum, to keep my mind from turning to mush, by attending a couple of arts criticism-focused seminars, which made me realise how much I love hearing intelligent people argue and also how much more I wanted to be doing in terms of arts criticism and wasn’t.

A uni friend and I took our relationship to the next level with a Hobart mini-break in early September. I had been working non-stop since April so getting away from the office for a couple of days was a god-send. Hobart did not disappoint either – it was absolutely beautiful!

Back home, I made it to the theatre several times, the symphony (!), the gallery, a film festival, the circus and an exhibition. Stuff happened this year, though it wasn’t all day trips, friends and flowers.

I learnt new things about myself this year, not all of them good. Again, I was hit by the winter blues, though not hard enough to flee the hemisphere like I did in 2012. I was drifting and then I wasn’t, I got bored and I got frustrated with myself for how I was spending my time. Yet, I feel like I’m steadily making headway, consistently striking things off the ‘things I don’t want to do’ list, and taking small steps towards making aspirations that sit better with me. It’s positive, in a slightly warped way and I think that’s where I am right now, pottering along in a more deliberate meander. Tangents welcome.

Since reading Looking for Alibrandi in Year 8 English oh so many years ago, I haven’t touched a Marlina Marchetta novel – I’d forgotten what a good writer she was! On the Jellicoe Road is an emotional mystery about the Taylor Markham, now all grown up and leader of the boarders at the Jellicoe School. She’s come a long way since she was found abandoned on the Jellicoe Road by her mother years earlier. As we get to know Taylor, we’re introduced to five kids, who lived in the area 18 years before. After Hannah, the person Taylor has come to rely on most, disappears without a trace from the unfinished house by the river, Taylor and the most unlikely of allies endeavour to track her down.

Initially, I scoffed at this one. The first chapter begins as so many YA novels do, we’re introduced to our heroine; this time it’s Karou, a cool young thing with blue hair heading into art school in Prague. She’s recently broken up with her actor boyfriend, who shadows her down the road. She’s desirable, aloof and completely unrelatable. Thankfully, things do pick up from there; it’s soon revealed that Karou runs errands for an employer of the demonic persuasion.

This is the first book of the Daughter of Smoke and Bone trilogy. The world Taylor creates is surprisingly detailed, imaginative and rich and more than enough to sustain the story for another two volumes. The love story at its centre is another strong driving force.

The events of Animal People take place in the space of one day. This is the day 39-year-old Stephen is going to break things off with his girlfriend. But before that can happen, he must get through his morning at work and a child’s birthday party. Wood brings to light the hilarity that exists in the everyday mundane. She exposes the absurd in our everyday interactions with each other concisely, almost to the point of creating discomfort, and without striking a false note. An insightful and poignant novel, Animal People has definitely secured me as a fan and I’ll be keeping an eye out for Charlotte Wood’s other books in the new year.

Beautiful Ruins by Jess Walter is the story of an unknown American actress who unexpectedly appears on the shore of Porto Vergogna, the small sixth village of Cinque Terre that the rest of the region likes to pretend doesn’t exist. The blonde has been filming Cleopatra in Rome and after some devastating news, is sent to The Hotel Adequate View where she meets the idealistic young hotel manager, Pasquale.

Fifty years later, an old Italian man appears on a Hollywood lot looking for a world famous producer. He has a favour to call in.

This debut novel is told in a series of letters written by three different couples, each from a different place and time. There’s a quiet desperation behind each character’s letter writing – they’re writing their way towards closure, understanding and acceptance, but there are a lot of questions that need to be considered first, a lot of backage that needs to be unpacked. Beautifully reflective and celebratory, Walker’s novel was definitely a highlight this year.

You can find a more informative review of Letters to the End of Love from mehere.

I was neck-deep in N-W by Zadie Smith, when I turned to Craig Silvey’s charming novella. It’s no secret that I completely fell in love with Silvey’s writing when reading Jasper Jones last year and sure enough, that love blossomed all over again. The Amber Amulet was just what I needed to lessen the heaviness of Smith’s novel, a breath of fresh air.

This is a fairytale about loneliness and curiosity and remaining true to oneself regardless of the consequences. Persimmon Polidori owns a flower shop in an underground railway station sitting beneath the City Gardens. Roots from a majestic tree wind their way down through the ceiling, just missing the counter where she can often be found turning pages for her friend, Rose, the talking cabbage. Also instrumental to the story is Epiphany, the mouse, who lives on the deepest train platform and dreams of “Somewhere Else”.

While it may sound trite, The Three Loves of Persimmon is truly an enchanting and up-lifting novel that shows that life isn’t without its trials, but the act of rising above these allows us to be made in those moments.

While it didn’t make my ‘The Places You’ll Go’ post, A Room with a View was another novel that transported me, this time to Florence. I’m a little embarrassed that I took his long to pick up one of Forster’s books, but I wasn’t disappointed. His writing is witty and his characters, that perfect balance of astute and completely ridiculous.

I’ve been an absolute sucker for books written in letters this year it seems, this being my second favourite to use this stylistic approach. Juliet Ashton is the hero of this piece for me – a writer, who made a name for herself writing a regular London newspaper column during WWII. In the midst of her book tour, she receives a letter from a Guernsey man, hoping to track down more titles by his favourite author, Charles Lamb. The two start up a correspondence and soon enough Juliet is receiving letters from several members of the Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society. Slowly, details of the German occupation of Guernsey begin to emerge, something that I didn’t previously have any knowledge of.

Unfortunately, this is the only novel Shaffer has written (her daughter finished editing it once Shaffer died), but in a way that makes it all the more precious. It’s a sweet story, full of endearing characters, that explores a devastating time with sensitivity and humour.

Every so often – once in a blue moon, in fact – I’ll come across a book that floors me. A book that I’ll immediately want to push on anyone who reads. This year, that book was Tender Morsels by Australian author Margo Lanagan because it expresses more acutely than any lecture or impassioned soapbox address ever could, the underlying power difference between men and women in what is essentially a patriarchal society. But, of course, this book is so much more clever than that. A loose adaptation of the lesser known Grimm fairytale Snow-White and Rose-Red, Tender Morsels is the dark tale of two sisters, their young mother and the fragile world she’s created for them all.

We meet Liga when she is 14 years-old and living with her father, who, I think it’s fair to say, is amongst the most despicable and repulsive of all literary characters ever. Pent up in a small cottage at the edge of the woods and completely isolated, Liga is entirely dependent on her father, which makes her situation even more complex when he suddenly dies. What should come as a relief, to finally be free of his sexual and emotional abuse, brings all new horrors to Liga’s doorway.

When Liga is at her very lowest, she is offered an escape, but as we soon learn, this fantasy world is not necessarily the haven it first appears.